Above the Thames On a Christmas night
by Seven Nana
Summary: Ann Smiley is nothing but a smitten adolescent, unable to love someone like George. Is it overproud to think that way?


****Author ****Seven Nana**  
><strong>Disclaimer <strong>**Just to tell : I mixed the book and the movie, so thanks to John le Carré en Tomas Alfredson.**  
><strong>Notes<strong> A million thanks to xRandomosityx who helped me to correct this story and for her kindness.**

This oneshot is just a slight idea (I have some more serious ideas thought) inspired by this prompt on the ttss_kink community on LJ : "_Peter had noticed Ann's indiscretions even before Smiley did. He becomes angry at her for betraying Smiley. Angry at Haydon for seducing her. And most of all being angry at himself for not doing anything, because deep inside, he is overjoyed that George is finally free of her._".  
>Still, you can check my LJ (username, <em>nana-loves-tea<em> but you will find it on my bio) and have the PDF version.  
>And of course, enjoy ;)<p>

* * *

><p>"Peter, would you like to have a drink after the party ?"<p>

Bill Haydon had approached him twice during the night. And just like the first time, the man offered his most alluring smile, emphasizing the hungry light in his eyes. Naturally seductive, Bill Haydon was a man who's charisma impregnated him like a personal perfume, an invisible organ. Therefore, it pretty difficult to withstand this sweet predator. But Peter Guillam knew all too well the reputation of this Don Juan and did not want to become one of a long line of lovers.  
>He declined politely, without being cold or curt, keeping the slight but lovely flirting between them. That way Haydon's ego was not bruised.<p>

The music was still on but the party got tired; Peter felt it in his legs as wall as his throat after so much laughs and because so many people had left the room to enjoy Christmas in their beds. Even George Smiley had left with his usual ghostly discretion. There was just Control –forgetting his age thanks to the alcohol– who was impressing his neighbours with his dancing skills. Peter thought it best better for him to go home now and he called a cab.  
>Under a street lamp spreading an yellowish light, the young man warmed himself up with a cigarette. A feminine laugh rang out at the end of the street. He could see the outline of a lady snuggling up against the shoulder of a man. They seemed to be sharing a fantastic moment. Christmas was wonderful for some people, but this scene did not make Peter smile: it was Ann Smiley with her new lover, Bill Haydon. He did not care who had started this little game, it did not matter as both were guilty. And while these two libertines were breaking the hearts around them, Peter could only think about George, the poor ignorant fool.<p>

At least, that is how Peter used to see his colleague and friend. The cab rolled across Battersea Bridge and Peter recognised the small silhouette of George Smiley, still while observing the gloomy eddy in the River Thames. Immediately, Peter asked to the cab driver to stop and leave the clock on. Above the water, the wind was cold and made his eyes feel dry. Peter slammed the door and caught George's eye. They did not share a single word and yet, Peter had understood how hard the night had been for his friend when he caught the fragility in his gaze. Alone, at the edge of this chasm, the memory of his wife seemed to be unbearable.

"Come along, Mr Smiley, let me take you home."

For so long, he'd merely been the man's driver, while George had always guided him with advice. Tonight, Peter would guide him. He took him gently by the shoulder and lead him toward the cab.  
>The dark river disappeared and the warm car welcomed them. Still, George never once opened his mouth, loneliness furrowing his features, making him appear older. Unlike Bill, George had no charm, no sensuality. Maybe it was because he was short or because all his clothes were too loose-fitting. Maybe it was his glasses, which made him look like an owl or a frog. No, George was certainly not handsome, at least not at first glance. So how could Peter love him so much? It was not the love of a son for his father, but love for a man he wanted to see happier. Even though Ann was a complete stranger to him, Peter was convinced that he was best able to love George. But inside, he felt so ashamed to think that way.<p>

He paid for their trip and followed his companion into his house. Outside, noise from nearby parties was still resounding in the narrow streets but nothing could bring back the good mood Peter had felt at the beginning of the night. Both of the wedges were still stuck in the door : they were the first to come here.

"Did you drink enough at the party, Peter ?"

"Not enough to refuse a glass."

Peter waited on the couch. The young man could hear two glasses clinking on the counter in the kitchen, then a liquid pouring. George took his place in the armchair closer to the couch. He looked at the whiskey in his glass without the slightest urge to drink it. Peter also did not want to raise the alcohol to his lips.

"Do you know who she's with ?", he dared to ask.

George leaned comfortably in his armchair, pausing before answering, "It doesn't matter now."  
>When he was alone in this too big house, George asked himself often who Ann's new lover was. Where she went off to and what she was doing. What dream was making her run away from the conjugal nest over and over again, just like a smitten teenager. He knew it was Bill that had embraced his wife during the whole party, but the situation was still the same: she was someone else's bed, someone else's arms.<p>

Peter put their glasses down on the coffee table before taking George's hand. First, to share his sadness with a simple gesture.  
>A gesture his wife was depriving him. Then he crossed George's fingers with his, sharing his desire. If George did not tighten his grip, he did not push him away either. He felt the nape of Georges neck tipping over the wooden edge of the armchair. Peter was towering above him and with all his tenderness, he kissed him. Through his lips, he proved to George how Ann was incapable of loving him like he could. He moved closer, so glad that the shame was breaking, leaving him with the most noble feeling.<br>His hand slipped on George's wrinkled shirt then clung to his tie. Peter inserted a finger in the sweet knot and pulled it, loosening the collar. George stopped him.

"Peter."

_Not tonight, Peter. I can't._ The young man had heard the unspoken words. Tonight, the wound was too fresh, too painful. Tonight, all the medicine would be ineffective. Still, it was not because George was faithful to Ann. _Not tonight, Peter. I'm too tired._  
>Another night, maybe soon, his caresses would make him dizzy.<p>

It was almost three o'clock and George had nothing in his mind but getting to bed and shutting himself away in sleep. But he knew he would not bear laying alone in such a huge, cold, empty bed. He asked Peter to stay for the night, to protect him from sorrowful dreams.  
>The men undressed in silence in the dark room. Even the street lamp outside could not reach their intimacy. The sheets were murmuring sweet frictions, making the sound of rest. On his pillow, Peter could smell Ann's perfume. The perfume of a woman far too beautiful, far too unsteady. He drew closer to George, burying his nose in the hollow of his shoulder, feeling him and only him. Like the guardian he'd become, he protected his new lover in the half-light. Their hands met again, their fingers intertwined just like they did before.<p>

Finally, sleep claimed them both in their nest warm nest of sheets.


End file.
